


Storyteller

by sunshinekat



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age 2, da2 - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinekat/pseuds/sunshinekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They'd been the makings of a legend, how could he regret that? Anders/M!Hawke, spoilers for DA2,</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Makings of a Legend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years from now, the world would tell tall tales of them, the Champion of Kirkwall and his companions.

**A/N character death, spoilers,**

* * *

As he lay broken, bloodied and defeated on the wet ground of the Gallows, Anders swears he can hear Hawke on the battlefield. Orsino has given up the fight,  turned to the demons whose fault it is that this has happened. Justice is simmering in rage in a corner of  Anders' mind, trying to take the reins but Anders won't, can't let him do it. If he should rise to rejoin the fight then it will be on his own merit, but his body has been a slave to Justice for too long and everything has gone too far. Orsino is no longer elf, he is a part of a corruption, and they can say what they will at the end, that it was demons, that the Knight-commander pushed him over the edge, but they all know the truth. Mages are corrupt from birth, demons lurk in every corner of their subconscious, and every moment is a battle, every wish a temptation within reach if they're willing to give in. But humans will never understand, comprehend, believe that there are those who can resist, fight back and stay pure.

Hawke was one of those people, he was one of those fabled incorruptible warriors, and Anders as always, even when he can't see Hawke, his entire body is attuned to Hawke's movements, the sound of his voice, the smell of worn leather, sweat and blood.

He fights for the city that took everything from him and Anders knows that there is something inside that man that pushes him, he'll never know what it is, never be able to put a name to the fire behind those eyes.

but his wounded body clings to its presence, longs to be close to that bright light.

And before long he is here, finally, standing above Anders, dirt and blood smeared on his cheek, hair mussed because, as usual, Hawke looked like hell. He gives Anders this questioning look, says something about napping in the middle of battle, and he's got Lyrium and health potions in hand but it's not that which brings Anders practically back to life, it's him.

It's always been him.

Now mostly healed but still almost dead, magic pool refilled, burning with energy despite his condition Anders accepts Hawke's waiting hand, not ready to return to battle, hesitant and fearful for the first time in his life.

But through that touch he is brought back, renewed. Orsino slams into Aveline again and again, she fights on, never faltering, Isabela flashes from the shadows her blades glinting in the moonlight, Varric keeping them covered from a distance, lucky dwarf nug-humper. Fenris lets out a roar slicing through the magicked limbs that make up Orsino's corrupted body.

Deafened by his moment of weakness, Anders watches, blind and foolish, but then he sees it. A light so bright is leaves little black spots in his vision, and he knows it's just a lightning spell but it fills him, completes him and seeing Hawke in the midst of battle is still such a beautiful thing.

All in one moment, Anders is overwhelmed with an unnamable feeling, driven by a passion that nothing can quell he returns to the fray, staff flashing, the power of Justice- no, Vengance burning through his skin. He makes a silent vow to himself, never taking his eyes of Hawke.

one day someone like him will fall in love with someone like Hawke and-

and-

_"Anders!"_

Perhaps it wasn't the Templars, or fate...or the gods, that took away everything Hawke cared about.

Maybe it was the city, with its old buildings, shackled statues in gold telling the history of the Tevinter Imperium in their skin. The surrounding mountains that housed caves filled with ruins and old, haunted altars, the Bone Pit and the Wounded Coast, the Docks, the Chantry lying in ruins.

Hawke is kneeling by his side, talking quickly, cursing and pressing his hands against the wound in his chest that no potion or spell can heal.

He looks desperate, not a good look for the Champion of Kirkwall.

The land beneath them was corrupted, broken, cursed.

From the moment they arrived here, starved and seeking shelter their fate was sealed.

Justice roars inside him, cursing and his voice is so loud Anders can barely hear Hawke speak, he looks angry and desperate and so sad.

Merril and Isabela and Aveline finish Orsino off.

This battle is finished, but the war has just begun, Anders hopes that when they tell the story of what happened here that they remember why he did it.

His thoughts escape him and his eyesight grows dim, he reaches up with a bloodied hand and cups Hawke's cheek just to feel his skin again.

He wonders briefly what he would have done if he'd known this was how it would end.

But as darkness takes his sight and his body grows cold Anders doesn't regret, doesn't wish he'd done anything different.

Seven years he'd been by Hawke's side, seven years and he'd met the most insane group of people, thieves, blood mages, slaves, princes, knights and storytellers, and Hawke.

Like Hawke was some kind of magnet for the strange they'd stuck to him, with their flaws and their problems and all the broken things that made them who they were, Anders knew deep inside, no matter betrayal, pain and anger they were still family, even if they were linked only by a thread, by a chance encounter in a burning home town. Brought together by a purse snatcher. A meeting in the dark, dangerous alleys of Lowtown or some bar fight in the Hanged Man. If they'd met on the way to Sundermount, taking revenge on mercenaries as a favor or...or looking for the lit lantern.

They'd been the makings of a legend, how could he regret that?

Aveline looked on, used to loss and hopelessness. Isabela fought against that feeling, keeping her gaze on the flames. Fenris watched the burning remains of the Chantry, there was pity in his gaze. Merril watched in pain, she rested Ander's head on her lap and prayed, her voice trembling. Varric looked like he was about to give up, like he wanted to, but someone needed to tell this story, to write it down in parchment so that the world would never forget.

And Hawke knelt at his side, the light Anders had longed to see for so long was there, dimmed with pain but it was there.

With one final look, his last breath exhaled and the darkness came.

 

 


	2. Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knows this place, but he can't quite figure out why, and this smiling man, this kind, smiling man, why does he look so sad?

**a/n may conain disturbing elements? ENJOY.**

 

_Perhaps I should check a looking glass more often._

It was the third time he'd had that dream, the voice was distorted and far away and although the room itself seemed vaguely familiar Malcolm couldn't remember where he'd seen it or if he'd actually been there. The person standing in front of him, the one who'd spoken about the looking glass was smiling, sure he couldn't see them smiling, their face was blurred and he couldn't distinguish their looks or anything, but somehow, instinctively, he knew that this person was smiling.

He opened his mouth to answer and suddenly it was gone, it was gone and he was staring at the high ceiling of a bedroom. He sits up, he knows this room, he knows the drapes hanging in front of the window, he knows the fireplace, he knows these stone floors. Even the sheets are familiar, he feels as though he'd slept here before. But it's not his, none of this is his. There is no sense of property for him here, it is confusing and a slow, soft pain thrums through his skull. A man walks into the room, tall, broad, straight blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail, stubble that marked a strong, sturdy jaw, calm, topaz eyes. His clothes were strange, some feathered shoulder pauldrons and a long dark blue cloak and black trousers and boots. He stood in the doorway with an expression of shock. Despite the fact that this man looked like he was about to go out on some adventure filled with giant spiders and abomi- Malcolm halts his thoughts, that word, there was something about that word.

Abomi-...Abomination?

He looks at this man and that word appears.

But this man how could this man be an abomination?

"Hawke, you're awake."

Malcolm nods, "who are you?"

"It's me Anders, don't you r-...i'm your friend."

Malcolm frowns, he moves aside to get off the bed, the delicate feeling of finery on his skin is strange, as if he were used to much rougher material, like leather...like what Anders is wearing.

Anders walks toward him alarmed, "no, i-it's not a good idea for you to get out of bed yet!"

Malcolm stops and watched Anders as he sits down beside him.

"do you know where you are?"

Malcolm glances away, who is this man? how does he know him? is he trustworthy? what if he was an enemy, what if he wasn't a friend like he said-

"Hawke, i've known you for seven years now, i know who you are which is why i need you to trust me."

seven years?

"i know this place." Malcolm says softly, "but at the same time..."

Anders carefully places his hand on Malcolm shoulder, "it's alright if you don't know. that's why I’m here."

Malcolm looks at Anders, "I feel the same about you."

Anders flinches, and it's horribly familiar, that pained look, the despair, the agony that flashed through those pretty gold eyes it was all so...so familiar. But he simply couldn't place it and the only damning thought that passed through Malcolm's mind was, 'why did I hurt this person?'

Anders smiles, "right, it's fine. You'll definitely recover, but for now you should rest. alright?"

Malcolm nods, as though through simply seeing Anders in pain was enough to make him submit to his every word.

Perhaps it wasn't that, he thought, maybe resting was what he needed right now, his mind was still trying to find out what exactly was going on.

Malcolm crawled back under the warm covers, Anders watching the whole time a kind expression on his face.

He gave Malcolm a soothing drink and left him to rest.

                                                                                 -:-

It was two weeks since Malcolm had awoken, he had yet to leave the bed, let alone the room. Anders told him that it was simply too dangerous for him to stand, he said that if he bumped into anything, if he made contact with anyone other than Anders that his brain could simply wipe out his memories. that was the explanation, it seems that something traumatic had happened some time in his life and his mind couldn't cope with it and that if he came in contact with anything similar to what had happened his brain would reset.

It was a frightening notion, and Malcolm began to fully depend on Anders to stay himself. The floor that surrounded his bed became frightening. Malcolm wished for nothing more than Anders, and he was beginning to think he didn't need anything more than that. The rest of the world could go to hell, it had made him like this, made him the Champion of Kirkwall a weak and limited creature-

Malcolm blinked, rubbed his forehead and took a deep breath. He didn't even know what the Champion of Kirkwall was! But it felt familiar, he was tired of things feeling familiar. One moment he was in the present, watching the fireplace, the colors of the flames, he wanted to touch them, wanted to cleanse himself of the sickness that had made him bedridden. But the next he was somewhere else, his fingers twitching gripping the sheets in such a way that they were folded cylindrically in his hand, like a sword handle. his toes tingled and curled as if he'd tried on boots that didn't fit him. Little aches and pains sprouting along his limbs, phantoms of some old injury. His mind was here, but his body, his body was still remembering past battles.

The only thing that could alleviate him from the madness that was his existence was Anders.

Anders would visit him, read to him, feed him, clean him. He was everything to Malcolm.

Only when Anders was here did Malcolm feel safe.

It was the late afternoon, Malcolm’s body coated in a thin sheen of sweat, he'd kicked the sheets to the end of the bed and began to strip, soon Anders would come with a basin and a sponge.

Malcolm was pulling off his shirt when the door opened.

Anders stepped in carrying the basin of hot water. He smiled gingerly at Malcolm and came closer to put the basin next to the bed. After that he went to the door, closed and locked it. Anders dragged a chair to the bedside and sat down. Malcolm already nude by this time knelt at the very edge of the bed. Anders touched the side of Malcolm’s face with the tips of his fingers, "It's so good to see you Hawke."

Malcolm smiled, "how was your day?"

"it was alright, how about yours? did you read that book I left you?"

Malcolm shook his head, "it was too far to reach."

Anders chuckled, finally dragging the soft sponge over Malcolm’s shoulder.

"That's fine." he says staring at Malcolm’s chest.

Their conversation comes to a tense halt, as Anders slowly drags the sponge over Malcolm’s right shoulder, squeezing it until tiny streams of warm water sluiced all along his arm and back. 

Malcolm relaxed, he always did during this time, it calmed him, and it calmed his body.

Today was different though, because Anders, who usually chatted him up a storm when they washed was silent.

Malcolm watches his expressions, that pain was back, the ache in those pretty eyes.

He doesn't deserve to hurt like this, Malcolm thinks.

"i love you." Malcolm says, and for once he's glad that this feels familiar, he's said it before. And it's nice because now he knows that he hasn't only caused this man pain.

the pain in Anders eyes slithers away, a kind smile takes its place.

"I love you too, Hawke." Anders leans forward and gently presses his mouth against Malcolm’s.

It burns.

gods, his touch burns.

Malcolm pulls back, gasping for breath.

Anders' expression is panicked, his face pale. He drops the sponge on the bed, the water soaking into the sheets.

He stands up abruptly, "I...I should go."

No, no this was all wrong.

No.

Wait.

Please.

"Anders wait-" but his lips burn.

Gods it hurts so much.

Malcolm looks up only to see Anders' back as he closes the door behind him.

                                                                           -:-

_Per...haps I-I-.... sh...Should ch-ch-ch-eck a looking glass more often._

This time the voice was distorted, muffled almost.

The face was still blurred, the surroundings the same, the déjà vu was like a rope around his neck, his throat was tight and his eyes stung, his mouth felt dry and his tongue heavy.

He wanted to scream and that was when his head began to throb in pain, the pounding in his head grew until he couldn't see anything but blackness.

Malcom opened his eyes, head aching, limbs heavy, chest heaving.

he had the irrational need to get out of the room.

Gods he couldn't stand to be in here anymore, it made him tremble, in fear, in rage. He wasn't some animal to be cooped up like this, he was a man, a human man and he needed to escape he needed to-

The floor was cold underneath Malcolm’s feet, and for all but ten seconds he was afraid to move. Part of him wanted to run to the door, leave the four walls that have kept him safe this whole time, while the other part of him wanted Anders.

It was so simple, he longed for Anders to be here, in bed with him, holding him in his strong arms.

He felt crippled by such need, and it led him to crawl back into bed to huddle under the covers until the pain in his head faded to a dull thrum in the back of his skull.

Malcolm fell asleep again, this time he did not dream.

When he woke up, two hours later it was because he felt part of the bed sink.

a brief wave of panic washed over him rendering him motionless, as the sheet was slowly dragged over his head.

For the first time Malcolm was afraid of Anders when he saw his face.

The loneliness was there, the pained expression Malcolm hated to see was there, but all he felt was blank terror.

He wasn't sure what he was so afraid of and from that confusion longing was born. He wanted to run into Anders arms as much as he wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

But the moment those large hands touched his face all his doubts were gone, his fears and the pain. His vision turned black.

 

When Malcolm awoke he was undergoing a torrent of different sensations.

He was being fucked.

That was the foundation of his world at the moment. His arms were tied to the bed posts above his head, his knees hooked over his assailants shoulders. Hot breath washing over the side of his neck and face. Hands gripping his hips so tight it was painful.

_"Hawke-!"_

It was all so familiar.

This had happened before. countless times before.

But he couldn't pinpoint where or who and his mind couldn't directly focus on finding it because his body was under siege.

His body reacted on it's own despite the lack of pleasure he felt in his mind. His body remembered what this was and who this was and reacted accordingly.

But it was frightening.

Who was this?

Was it Anders?

Why was Anders doing this?

Were he and Anders lovers?

Why hadn't Anders told him?

Why-

"Gods, i love you Hawke-!"

Anders' hips pushed a little deeper, thrust a little faster, as if he was close to unraveling.

But this was all wrong.

it was wrong because Anders was forgetting what could happen to Malcolm if he was treated roughly.

Any sudden impact, bumping his shoulder into the wall, being yelled at, the sound of a door closing.

It could trigger his illness.

Anything similar to the first trauma could cause his brain to-

_Perhaps I should check a looking glass more often._

Anders is smiling at him. Anders is running beside him. Anders is fighting beside him. Anders is walking beside him. Anders is talking to him. Anders is arguing with him, fighting with him, kissing him, telling him he loves him, laying down with him in bed, holding his hand.

Anders tells him to wait.

Anders is leaving him.

Anders is-

Anders is an abomination.

It was like something snapped in Garret Hawke's mind.

Malcolm was his father's name. And before he was Malcolm he'd been Carver and before that he'd been Donnic, Wesley, Keran, Saemus-

People he'd known in his life.

He'd been the champion of Kirkwall.

But Anders had used him, and now he'd captured him and wouldn't let him go.

Hawke tugged at his restrained, thrusting his body upward trying to throw Anders off.

He knew it was pointless though, because he'd done it before. Each time he'd returned to his old self it was here, in the bed, going through the first trauma.

Anders leaned back to gaze down at him, the pain etched in his eyes faded and bliss replaced them.

he leaned down and kissed Hawke's resisting mouth, "stop Anders," he gasped, "please."

Anders shook his head, "No, not when you're finally back, my love."

For seven years.

Seven years he'd been here.

In this bed.

Anders kissed him again and Hawke yielded because he'd loved this man more than anything once upon a time.

Hawke turned away but Anders simply whispered into his ear, "I’ll never let you go again. I love you. I love you more than anything. I'll never let anything separate us."

"I want to get away from here."

"why? you have me." Anders chuckles softly, slowing his pace and thrusting in slowly grinning at Hawke's frustrated body pushing back urgently, "You don't need anyone else, you have everything you need right here."

"Get off me."

"You're just being shy, you know that nothing will ever come between us, you know that I love you and that I’ll never let anything hurt you."

"Please Anders, let me go."

Anders ignored him, the grip on his arms grew painfully tight, he began to pound into him, pleasure fading into a burning pain and he leaned forwards, kissing Hawke’s cheek, whispering over and over again.

"I love you Hawke. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love-"

_Perhaps I should check a looking glass more often._

The face was blank. The body was clear and the background was familiar, everything was so familiar. Karl wasn't sure why but all he knew was that this person was definitely smiling. It made him happy to know this person was smiling too, because Karl cared deeply for this person. He would do anything for this person to be happy.

And yet, for some reason, his head hurt, his  body hurt and the only word that came to mind when looking at this blurred face was Abomi-Abomi-

_Abomination._

 


End file.
